Rain Spotted Pictures
by oblivious2theworld
Summary: A Flay and Slay oneshot. It takes place about two months after Moonshine, second book in Rob Thurman's series.


Ice, hairbrush, tarot, vengeance, curtains, storm

**Rain-spotted Pictures**

A/N: This is a post-Moonshine oneshot. It's from Flay's point of view. Sorry if his character is not completely canon.

I woke up with that disconcerting feeling where you don't know where you are. That happened to me a lot lately. My whereabouts came back to me as I looked around the room. Stacks of paper blew off the folding table as the raging wind came through the open window. Outside it was raining hard and lightening was lashing out with a vengeance. I quickly sat up and went over to remove the brick from the window sill, where it had been propping up the wooden frame, and the glass panes came down with a _thump _that was muffled by thunder. I closed the curtains in an effort to keep out the bright flashes of light. After all, it was two-thirty in the morning and I had to go work in an hour and a half. It'd be very bad if Slay woke up. I would never be able to get him back to sleep.

I slid slowly into bed next to him, praying he wouldn't wake. He stirred and I froze. _Go back to sleep. Go back to sleep. _I let out a sigh when he flopped over to face the wall, still dead to the world. I closed my eyes, exhausted. Life hadn't gotten any easier since the day that I got my son back from those monsters that had kidnapped him. We'd been on the run in that stupid van for three whole weeks before I decided to chance settling down, even temporarily. The place we finally stopped at was in Ohio. I'd found a little suburban town with affordable apartments. We stayed there for only week before packing up again. Even if we were away from the Kin and all the other monsters of New York, we'd yet to outrun my paranoia. So we kept going. There were a few more stops over the following two weeks, but none of them lasted more than three or fours days.

But last week things changed. Slay came down with a virus of some kind and couldn't get it out of his system while we were constantly on the road. We stopped in the first town we came to and found the apartment we were in now. I suppose South Dakota is as good as any other place to end up. Slay started showing signs of improvement immediately. He was back to his usual self after only a few days, but insisted that we stay. I suspect that he may not have been has sick as he'd acted.

But I wanted him to be happy, so I promised we'd at least give it a try. I found a job at an ice skating rink cleaning up after hockey games, driving the zamboni, and doing odd jobs around the place. The pay wasn't great but it was enough. And the place was in such need of help that they didn't ask many questions about your appearance when you were the only one to apply for the job. That had been the big selling point for me; I wouldn't have been able to explain all the hair. Not in a way that didn't involve getting sent off to a nut house anyway.

The only problem with the job was the hours they had me running. I wasn't allowed around people so I had to do all my work before the rink opened everyday. I sighed again, rubbing my eyes wearily. I _had_ to get some sleep.

I focused all my attention on the sound of the rain, hoping it would put me to sleep. That plan was out the window quickly however. With the rain's light tapping came the harsh thunder, _boom_ing in loud echoes through the one-room apartment. I ground my oversized jaws together in frustration. Getting out of bed, I promised myself that tomorrow night I would get to sleep at least a full eight hours to make up for tonight.

After I got a glass of water I went over to our pathetic little table and surveyed the damage of the wind and the rain. The papers that had scattered were all over the floor. I bent down to pick them up, looking through them absentmindedly. Most of it was just odds and ends; maps, fake ID cards, things of that sort. Some of it though was covered in bright colors and simple shapes. _They must be pictures Slay drew, _I thought. I sat down on the floor under the window. Where my back rested against the wallpaper, I could feel the coldness from outside, through my sweatshirt. I shivered and the coldness felt much more than just skin-deep; I could feel it down to my bones. Suddenly I was pulled into the blackest parts of my mind. Horrible memories swirled around me. Memories of trying to get my son back. Memories of the day when I realized Slay was gone; it had been raining. Memories of nightmares I'd had. Memories about jobs I'd done in the Kin that had caused those nightmares. Memories of the days before all those dark clouds had come over my life, from when I'd had a respectable job and a happy family, when I never would have believed what had become of my life.

As the memories rolled over me, and one by one faded away, I gripped my hands into fists and breathed in deep, heaving gulps. When the replay that I'd thought had been forgotten weeks ago was finally over I was able to take shallower breaths. Relaxing my hands from their fists I reached for my water and drank the rest of it. When I looked down at my lap I remembered too late the drawings that I'd held. Quickly I smoothed them out from their creased, crumpled state and inspected them for any rips. Luckily there were only a few and those were on the edges, barely interfering with the pictures.

I got up from the floor with them still in hand and leaned toward the window for light. All of the crayon drawings were simply-done, with square people who had circles for heads. From what I could tell they were all of me and Slay. The scenes were simple as well. Us with the van, or eating in a restaurant, or sleeping in a hotel, or riding on a zamboni, etc. _His own way of cataloging the events, _I thought. _Maybe I'll get him a camera for Christmas. _

I yawned and thought that I might be able to go to sleep after all. It was sure to be filled with nightmares now though. I sighed again, and climbed in bed for the third time that night. Before slipping unconscious I folded the pictures into a small square and put them in the pocket of my sweatshirt. They would be my anchor through the night, keeping the memories at bay. With their reassurance to guide me I found my way into Dreamland, which was filled with people with square bodies and circle heads…


End file.
